Dustyhead was walking through the woods. He had never been in such a place before, because after all, a scarecrow usually has not been in too many places aside from his field, where his one and only duty lies. But, as his beloved Agatha had christened him, Dustyhead was a Not-Just-Any-Old Scarecrow. His magic flower that brought him to life was proof enough of that. Dustyhead looked down at that wonderful, little flower on his jacket, and felt a sort of self-pride. Then he remembered Agatha. How she looked like, lying on her bed, no longer breathing or feeling or smiling or laughing or-

No! Dustyhead cringed, he couldn’t think about that. Agatha wouldn’t have wanted him to wallow in doubt and despair, and he always did what Agatha asked him to. After all, her love and desire for friendship was what brought him to life long before the beautiful, little flower came along.

As Dustyhead was walking through the trees, avoiding branches and such, he noticed a certain plant. Bright green with little, pink flowers on it, Dustyhead’s magic flower seemed to reach out with its petals towards the plant. He paused; looking at the way his flower seemed almost to desire the green plant. Dustyhead tried to smell the plant, but then suddenly remembered that he didn’t have a nose. Oh well, nose or no nose, it was obvious that his flower liked the plant, so Dustyhead uprooted the whole plant and stuffed it in his jacket. As Dustyhead continued on his way, he noticed that there was even more of the vegetation growing in these woods. So Dustyhead stuffed all those uprooted plants into his jacket as well. After uprooting and stuffing for what felt like a full 3 minutes, Dustyhead looked like a very fat scarecrow with bits and pieces of the green plant sticking out of his jacket, trousers, and hat. Oh well, if his flower liked it, it must be good, and Dustyhead set off again, waddling with the extra weight.

After waddling for some time, Dustyhead saw a kitty-cat pop its head out of the surrounding greenery. Dustyhead stopped to pet it, and the cat seemed to very much enjoy the plant. After petting it for a while, Dustyhead motioned for the cat to come with him, after all, he would love to have a companion for wherever he was going. The cat readily replied, and followed Dustyhead in an almost drunken stupor. My, it seemed to be enjoying itself! After walking for a little longer, another cat popped its head out, mewling. As Dustyhead walked over to that cat, another one popped its head out, purring euphorically; then another, and another, and more and more and more. As Dustyhead tried to slowly back away from the multitude of purring cats, they all toppled onto him, desperate for the sweet plant. Dustyhead immediately shoved off the cats and ran as fast as he could away from them. They couldn’t have his plant, after all, he was the one who found it, wasn’t it his?

The cats didn’t think so, and they quickly gave chase. Dustyhead ran and ran as fast as he could, but it seemed that his newfound plant was weighing him down too much to successfully outrun the cats. Right when he was about to give up hope, Dustyhead heard…a river! Cats hated water, so all he had to do was cross the river and Dustyhead would lose those cats. The sound of the river got louder and louder as Dustyhead ran, and just when he felt that he was almost there, Dustyhead looked behind himself. The largest mass of purring, mewling cats that Dustyhead had ever seen was all after him, and it was then that Dustyhead knew fear. Distracted by the cats, Dustyhead didn’t notice the rock until he tripped over it, and braced himself for the shock the ground would give him. It didn’t come. Just as Dustyhead was relieved by that, he realized that that meant he was falling. Oh dear.

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“SPLASH!”

Dustyhead was swept away by the current. He instinctually held onto his hat and flower, but couldn’t prevent the plants being washed away from him by the current. As he thudded onto a rock, Dustyhead hung onto it and climbed back to the surface. The mass of cats were standing at the top of a giant waterfall, mewling pitifully for their lost treasure. Dustyhead sat down on the rock in the raging river, tired from that day’s misadventure. Perhaps, Dustyhead thought, he shouldn’t have taken quite so much of that strange, green plant.

The author's comments:

Here's another whimsical tale about the wooden scarecrow Dustyhead. Please comment and tell me what you all think.

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